Aspirations
by Doug Kelly
Summary: A small insight into the mind of Orson Krennic as he prepares for his arrival at Darth Vader's "summer retreat" on Mustafar. One-Shot.


A/N: I don't own Star Wars, or anything to do with Rogue One. If I did, I would probably be racing a car somewhere.

As for this little piece, it was written to combat an industrial bout of anxiety over upcoming essays and term papers. Life is fun. I got some information from Wookieepedia (like the rivalry between Tarkin & Krennic), but the rest is all my imagination. As I wrote this on my notoriously unreliable tablet, I hope there are not too many mistakes that managed to slipped though the net.

As the transport beneath him rumbled halfway across the galaxy towards its destination, Orson Krennic mulled over what, or rather who, awaited him there. Sitting on a crate in the hangar bay of his small transport, he felt distinctly uncomfortable, but that was the point. It was what kept him on his toes these days. Comfort was for the weak, people like Tarkin, who was, according to one of his spies, quite fond of walking around in slippers in his private quarters. A ridiculous habit for a ridiculous man. Thoughts of Tarkin led to the purpose of his journey, which in turn led once more to thoughts of his destination.

He had never been to Mustafar throughout his entire career in the former Republic's and then the Empire's service, an accomplishment of which he was quite proud. Colleagues summoned there had the unhealthy tendency to disappear for extended periods of time, possibly never to be seen again. Among the lucky ones that had been spared a summons so far, Vader's palace was known as the "summer retreat." They had a whole mailing list devoted to the topic and a betting pool on who would be next in line for an unexpected extended holiday. Going there without a summons was generally considered career suicide, and was rarely, if ever, done (the first part of the term being an optional extra in the case of a lucky outcome).

So, going to Mustafar unnanounced was far from the list of things Krennic had planned upon doing when the whole fiasco about the fleeing pilot had started. Nevertheless, he felt that this visit was a necessity if he ever wished to succeed in his endeveour to retake the hard-earned fruit of Project Stardust from Grand Moff Tarkin. Lord Vader would receive him, he was sure of that. The man – if whatever horribly mutilated creature that resided in the trademark black suit could still be called such – may have voiced his displeasure with the project more than once, but the events on Eadu would have piqued his interest enough that his wish to find out more would overwhelm his distaste for the whole affair. After all, a Rebel attack on a well-fortified Imperial facility fell into his range of duties as much as it fell into Krennic's, albeit for different component parts of the disaster. Vader had been tasked with wiping out the budding resistance, and their attack on a facility under Krennic's control was as good of a reason as any to go to Mustafar.

He had, of course, prepared a speech. He would lay out how Erso had deceived his fellow scientists, and how he could under no circumstances be blamed for Galen's treasonous actions. He had, after all, had very little to do with the actual people involved, busy overseeing more aspects of the project than merely the research division. The blame was thus to be layed at the feet of one of his subordinates (which one, he didn't particularly care, the point was that one of them should have noticed something). He had simply carried out his duties to the best of his abilities and knowledge. Initially, he had searched for a way to blame Tarkin, the longstanding feud between them was well-known to both the Emperor and Vader. However, he feared that this would be seen as an all-too-obvious ploy, and not be well-regarded. He would find another way to get back to the old man. Maybe Vader himself would provide one over the course of their conversation? Even then, he should be careful not to walk into a trap. Vader could be devious like that.

Krennic inadvertently smiled to himself. He realised now that his carefully crafted speech was likely to be a futile effort. After all, not one plan had ever survived first contact with the enemy. And he and Vader were most certainly not friends. Aside from his tendency to send Krennic's co-workers off into an early retirement, there was the matter of his status and abilities.

Like many of his compatriots, Krennic was of the opinion that any one person that was able to defy the basic laws of physics with nary a thought should be put under inhibitors and then shipped off to one of the labour colonies in the Outer Rim no-one was supposed to know about, where the damage they could do could be limited. In addition to that, as the resident force user at the Emperor's Court, he was awarded the special attention of his master by default. That irked many people that were desperate to be noticed by the Emperor through their hard work rather than a quirk of nature. The force, he scoffed, an ugly look momentarily fleeting across his features. Thankfully, there was no-one around who could have cared. Did the Jedi a whole lot of good in the end, didn't it? Krennic had always despised the naïve morons for their role in the war, taking up positions that would have been far beyond their knowledge and skill sets. Generals… Never mind their plans to overthrow the Emperor. Traitors, the lot of them.

Even though it had seemed tempting from time to time, and anyone who spent any significant amount of time around Vader could at least hazard an educated guess as to the man's origins, Krennic had long since ceased to put any effort into researching Vader's background for leverage. His force sensitivity and abilities with one of those uncivilised lightsabers obviously indicated a background in the Jedi arts, but whether he had originally been part of the Order, had turned against them at some point or whether he had been a rogue practitioner from the start remained a mystery. The Sith had been wiped centuries ago, of course, so they were put as a possibility. A former colleague of his, more than a little imbibed at that point of the evening, had once claimed to have found out more. That had been at one of the little after-dinner get-togethers in his quarters. The next day, on her way from his flat to her workplace a couple of blocks away, she had perished when her speeder had ceased to funtion approximately two kilometres above the ground. Krennic had pitied her demise, she had provided a nice distraction now and then. He had also debugged his apartment that very night. The night and the following "accident" had taken place shortly after he had brought Galen Erso back from his self-imposed exile. He sometimes wondered… but no, that was ridiculous. How could Erso have known anything of import regarding Vader?

Shaking himself free of any thoughts relating to the newly-dead scientist, Krennic glanced over to the small group of Stormtroopers positioned at the other end of the hangar bay. They were busy with their weapons, probably running some checks. He liked that about his stormtroopers. They were mostly veterans, surviving clones of the bounty hunter Fett, to be precise. They were far more disciplined and efficient than the replacements that had steadily sullied their ranks over the past two decades. He had tried to initiate the commission of new clone troops through proxies more than once, but to no avail. This issue was another point of contention between him and Tarkin, who had never trusted the clones much. Ridiculous, of course, as their genetic programming prohibited them from exacting grave disobedience.

Just then, a light went off above the door behind the troopers, indicating that they were about to land. Krennic took a deep breath, and cursed the subpar life support systems of the ship. The air inside a conference room after five hours of angst-ridden meetings with Vader tasted less stale than what passed for air on this particular vessel. The troopers may have been designed to work with lower levels of oxygen, but to him it was a repulsive feeling.

He smiled at the irony, after all, he was about to meet the abomination that called itself a "Lord" on one of the hottest planets Imperial space had to offer soon enough. So it was probably fair to assume that he wouldn't feel much better any time in the foreseeable future. Resigning himself to his fate, and going over his personal battle plan in his head one more time, he stood up and went across to the hatch, where his soldiers stood. He nodded to them as a way of greeting, before positioning himself between them, exactly in the middle. He couldn't help himself, he liked it when things were in their proper order. Which was why he was feeling so anxious at the prospect of meeting Vader. There was no order to be found within the man, he existed outside the proper chain of command. The large black cyborg was inscrutable, impossible to read with his mask and deep baritone voice. He was an anomaly. And Krennic was determined not to fall victim to him.

After all, he still had his space station to to command.


End file.
